Iceberglandia

So, apparently it was all over the news, but since I don’t follow local news (let’s say I don’t have canadian programming anymore), I only found out until I was doing my regular rounds.

The company I work for suddenly decided to lay off an undisclosed number (somewhere between 800 and 1100) of workers, throughout all the plants.
I was, um, fortunate enough to not be laid off, but two of my friends weren’t so lucky. Apparently they decided it was better to lay people off judging by seniority (the only true asset they value, stupid as it may be), which means that if they had decided to lay off 3 people in my department, instead of 2, I would have been out the fucking door.

I still haven’t heard from my brother in law and a  couple of other people I know who work in other plants, but I hope they made it.

Pisses me off, that in order to protect millionaires, us regular people get canned with nothing but a snap of the fingers. At least it’s not on MY conscience.

The Iceberg.

…and not the “good” kind either.

In just one year, I’ve purchased the following:

iPod Classic, 160 GB
You might remember how I talked about giving myself this iPod for my birthday. That was in october. Then, winter kicked in and I found myself walking through cold, snow, rain… not the best friends of digital equipment. So in order to protect my, um, investment, I went and got:

iPod Shuffle, 1 GB
When the news hit that the shuffle had dropped its price, it seemed a brilliant idea to get one, so I didn’t have to risk losing the other one. I could still fit in a couple hundred songs, so I was happy. If I got caught in a storm, or slipped and fell on ice, or fell off my bike, I’d rather lose the little trinket than the other one.

iPod Nano, 8 GB
This one, I didn’t buy for myself. It was a birthday present for my girlfriend. It’s fucking pink, so I won’t be using it. But it’s still here, so I guess it counts.

And then, last saturday, this:

iPhone 3G, 8 GB
Let me explain. The gf and I went to the mall because supposedly there was a sale at Old Navy. Yes, I’m aware how lame that sentence is. But she wanted pants. Anyway, after that we were all set to hit the food court, when I had the brilliant idea to walk into Rogers.
The original reason I did that was because, as I posted a couple of weeks ago, I cracked the screen on my Nokia. Their stupid extended warranty didn’t cover my phone, and my false sense of pride kept me from paying to get it repaired. So, in a way, I was on the market for a new phone.
Honestly, all I wanted to do was inquire as to how much it would cost to possess (and be able to use, obviously) a Blackberry device. I wasn’t even going to buy one, all I wanted was to ask.
My conversation with the sales rep turned to the state of my Nokia, when she said the following: “well, you can upgrade your phone… you keep the same number and everything. Oh, wait… the only phone you can upgrade to is the iPhone”. After a couple of questions regarding the functionality of the iPhone, and three minutes playing with the in-store model, I was admittedly in awe. A brief bout of paperwork later, I walked out with it.
The real irony is that with the cost of the phone I maxed out my Rogers credit, so of course my service is suspended. I made my payment yesterday, so it should start to work later on today.

I swear, despite evidence to the contrary, I’m not an Apple fanboy.

The Iceberg.

I shake my head with disbelief.

I guess all that talk about Metallica going back to their original sound was bollocks. And so much for Rick Rubin being the saviour of bands.
This is the first single off “Death Magnetic”, Metallica’s new album.

The intro, before Lars begins hitting on the snare banging pots together, has more to do with *NSYNC or Christina Aguilera than with any metal band. Then the music starts, and fuck, do the drums sound shitty once again. Here´s an anecdote:
Last friday I was in Toronto, and having done what I had to do, we ended up walking around until we ended up at Eaton Centre. I stepped out for a smoke, and there was this, um, street performer, with two paint buckets, a cymbal and a cowbell attempting his best at creating a rhythm. Unsuccessful as he was, the first thing that came to my mind was “Gee, that definitely sounds better than the drumming on St. Anger”.
Unfortunately, it still sounds shitty.

Then James starts singing, and well, he sounds just the same as he does in “unforgiven II”. This goes on for about five minutes, until things get “thrashy” for a couple of minutes in which they decide to sound like some european 80’s band (I either think it sounds like King Diamond, or a heavier Helloween). Well, all of them, except for Lars, who without a care in the world for drum fills or rhythm changes, continues to bang on the snare like a demented chimp until the end of the song.

The end of the song, by the way, was better described by a fellow farker as: “…then apparently they found the solos they forgot to put on St. Anger and tacked them onto the end of the song… ALL OF THEM!” True, indeed.

And the lyrics, oh my fucking god, the lyrics. Even bands like My Chemical Romance and A.F.I. would have rejected lyrics like these for being just TOO fucking emo. Here’s a sample:

Love is a four-letter word
And never spoken here
Love is a four letter word
Here in this prison
I suffer this no longer
I put it into this I swear
This I swear the sun will shine

Holy shit, huh? Cliff Burton must be spinning really fast in his grave. Centrifugal-force-fast.

The Iceberg.

Canada now has 3 medals. Swimming, Rowing and women’s wrestling.

Mexico, on the other hand, still has one bronze. Of course, the Olympic Comittee higher-ups must be patting themselves on the back.

The Iceberg.

It’s been a fucking week of olympic activity, and while the US and China are on top of the food chain, these damn goofs can’t even obtain one medal.
Meanwhile, Mexico has a bronze, Whoop-De-Doo.

Zimbabwe, on the other hand, has 3 silver and one gold. Togo has one Bronze (whopee! Mexico is tied with Togo!). Mongolia (MONGOLIA, FERCHRISSAKES!) has one gold and one silver. Even fucking North Korea has 5 medals.

And to think Vancouver will host the Winter Olympics in two years. I shiver in fear.

The Iceberg.

PS
I’m not disrespecting the countries I’ve mentioned. It’s just a comparison of how we view those countries as “poor”, “hungry”, “backwards” and “lesser than us”. At least they have spirit.

I like to have long hair. I feel dorky (well, even moreso) when I’m using short hair. I like the way my hair looks when it’s long. Is it somehow associated to the music I like? Not as much as you would assume… after all, my musical taste (or lack thereof, heh heh) is not impaired by a haircut. Is it a fashion statement, as it has been wrongly labeled? A cry for attention? No, and FUCK NO. I don’t care about fashion (as you can probably notice) and as far as attention goes, let’s say I prefer to fly under the radar. If I wanted attention, I’d fill myself up with tattoos and piercings and dress like a leprechaun, like those people downtown.

I wear my hair long, simply because I like it. So why, of all things, is my hair a problem for some people? I mean, you’re entitled to an opinion, and to an extent, I welcome all opinions. But it’s one thing to say “I think you look better with short hair”, like my sisters do, and it’s another one to say “long hair is so 70’s”. Well, so’s LSD, and there’s plenty of that going around, why don’t you go bother those people?

“Get a haircut”. No hellos, no how are yous, just “get a haircut”. That’s how one of my recent conversations started. Stupidity is amazing.

Granted, most people don’t give a shit what I do with my hair, and that’s just the way it should be. I’d never walk up to someone and say “Grow your hair”. Some people, even, have mentioned that I have a good set of hair, and that it looks good. But it’s the others that piss me off.

I don’t talk about hair to strangers on the street, but I have seen quite a fair share of dudes with long hair. Plain long, or with dreadlocks, or what have you. They always seem to be surrounded by people who accept them the way they are. I mean, what the fuck do I know, I don’t interview them, and for all I know they could be harrassed like myself, but it doesn’t seem that way.

The worst part is, as soon as people finish criticizing me, they go moisten their vaginas with images such as these:

Of  course, I’m not comparing myself to these idiots, especially the dork in the middle (the guy from Nickelback). What I’m trying to say is that these people that disapprove of my hair consider these other long-haired images “dreamy” (Yes, I’m aware Brad Pitt doesn’t have long hair anymore, but if you think chicks went to see Troy because of the historical significance, then you’re a dolt). Not only that, but these people, for the most part, oblivious to their hypocritical stance on my topical growth, worship and consider this guy their saviour:

Spare me the “well, back in those days there were no scissors” bit, what I’m pointing out is that even the Son of God, himself is depicted as having quite the ‘do.

And yet, when I do it, it’s wrong. Go figure.

The Iceberg.

FATHERHOOD

I try to play the part of a father as well as I can, year round. Even if 99% of the time there are at least 3000 miles between my daughter and myself. I have to put up with my ex and her insane logic (“no, you can’t call our house because my boyfriend is jealous, so here’s a number you can call her at, although she’s never there – oh, and that money you sent? It’s not enough, I want more”), I am usually forced to watch from the sidelines as my daughter grows up surrounded by – and influenced by – a less than stellar environment. I spend most of the year with a feeling of hollowness. But all of that only makes the short time when we are together that more special.
For two weeks I was a father. I talked to her, I made her laugh, I made her happy, I comforted her when she felt sad, I nursed the scratch the cat gave her a good 3 millimeters from the eye. I played with her (and my sister’s kids) at the pool, on the Wii, took her to the movies, bought her stuff… I even had to bite the bullet when she was too busy playing with her cousins. But I enjoyed every second of it. And I’m sure she did, too.

FRIENDS

Other than family, I didn’t get to see a whole lot of people. I hung out with one friend, a couple of times, and I saw another group of friends, also a couple of times. I ran into acquaintances (well, more like really old friends) who, after exchanging phone numbers all but disappeared from the face of the earth, I tried to call up other friends who never appeared, and I discovered how unimportant I’ve become to a few others. Their loss, really.
I’m not bitching, I’m well through with that. After all, it’s the way things work out, I guess.

THE TO-DO LIST

I didn’t actually take a list with myself, but every time I go down there, there are a few things I absolutely have to do. From visiting at least a dozen restaurants and eateries (because you just can’t find that cuisine up here) to doing my magazine hunt (there are a few places that sell earlier issues of magazines I like to read, and well, they don’t sell them in Canada…) to taking random pictures of my village.
This time, I didn’t even get a chance to visit half of the restaurants I wanted to. Only “Gorditas Doña Tota”, ”Don Prisci”, a seafood place and a few others. “La Norteñita” and the steak place, among others, will have to wait til next time.
I found a whole shitload of magazines (it’s a pain in the ass to drag a suitcase with, along with your normal shit, 30 or 35 magazines. But the payoff is worth it – I have enough reading material to get me through at least 150 bouts of diarrhea.)
As for pictures, most of them were of family members. Not too many “scenery” pictures – but I did ask my daughter (who proclaimed herself the official photographer of my trip) to take a picture of an OXXO. So there’s that. When I downloaded my pictures, I discovered that prior to the OXXO picture, she had taken quite a few pictures as we drove down one of the main avenues. And quite good ones, too!
The last thing I do on my trips is go on a shopping spree, looking for a) things I like, but can’t find in Canada; and b) things people from up here ask me to bring them. Without fail, I always forget stuff. This time was no exception, so I’ll have to go by without “flan” at least until December.

THE LONG WAY BACK

I left my village for Monterrey at 8.15, on a bus. After that, a shuttle to the airport and checking in my luggage. The guy that was in charge of that was actually very helpful and told me how to save the 25 bucks the airline wanted to charge me for checking in 2 bags. Here we were, that guy and myself, repacking my bags in front of a whole fucking airport. Oh well.
Lunch at Carl’s Jr was great. I got a Bacon Guacamole combo and was the happiest person alive for 10 minutes. Out for a smoke, another smoke, into the boarding gates.
For whatever reason, when the plane took off, I panicked. I suddenly saw images in my head of the plane dropping into the ground. Then I was OK. Then the pilot told us we couldn’t land in Houston because there was weather there. (I know what he meant, but isn’t there weather everywhere? Why not go all out and say the full phrase, “Bad weather”?). We circled the Gulf city of Corpus Christi for a while, and then landed amidst a fucking thunderstorm. Stupid Houston, and its “weather”.
Turns out, my connecting flight was delayed, which gave me just enough time to run out for a cigarette. Boy, I love going through security.
I landed in Toronto at 12.30, a good one hour after scheduled. But it was all good. My bags arrived with me, at least. I got home around 1.30 and had at least six beers before falling asleep. Hey, it’s nice to arrive the day before a holiday. Gives you a full day to recover from your trip. Or stay up until 7 AM drinking beer, whatever the case may be.

The Iceberg. 

THE TRIP TO…

Well, after watching The Dark Knight on thursday night, arriving to solve a personal issue, sleeping for 5 hours and getting up to watch the movie again, I ended up at work for my last day before my long-awaited trip.
My brother in law had kindly offered to take me to the airport at around 3 AM, so I had a plan: I’d try to sneak out of work early, get my shit done and sleep for a couple of hours. Lucky me, since work has been slow, we were told we could leave early if we so wanted to.
Got home at 8, called my sister, and she said they’d be taking me to the airport at 12 midnight, because my brother in law was going to work on Saturday. Oh well, I said.
So, I didn’t sleep. I figured I’d sleep at the airport. I arrived at the airport at around 1, and figured I had 3 hours to kill before beginning the whole check-in process. I listened to my iPod until 4.00. I figured I’d sleep on the plane.
I took off at 6.05, and rediscovered just how uncomfortable airplanes are. On top of that, I had the urge to take a shit, so that kept me awake until Houston. I figured I’d sleep on the next plane.
I had 1.5 hours to kill in Houston, so after I paid tribute to the porcelain gods (everything IS bigger in Texas, apparently – LOL) I went out for a smoke, and checked myself back in.
I swear I would have slept on the next flight, but for a shitty hour and a half, all I could hear was that “DING!” shit that sounds when the pilot turns on and off the stupid seatbelt light. Fucking morons, whoever thought of that one! Oh well… I figured I’d sleep on the bus.

I had talked with a couple of buddies who live in Monterrey about the possibility of partaking of a meal before I continued my journey. Everything was set, even the place. We’d be going to the Sirloin Stockade.

Not that I’m the fucking pope or anything, I knew nobody was picking me up at the airport, so I went to an information booth to inquire as to what options I had for leaving the airport and reaching the bus station. The stupid cunt, after bothering to lift her fat face from her shitty magazine, told me the only option was to take a fucking 25 dollar cab ride. When I discovered (too late, regretfully) there was a (FREE!) shuttle courtesy of one of the bus lines, I wished cancer of the eyeballs upon her.

THE LUNCH THAT NEVER WAS…

I arrived at the bus station at close to 1.00 PM, and proceeded to purchase a phone card. I walked over to the phones and called both my buddies. Nothing. Went out for a smoke, and called back again. Nothing. I left a voice message. Having fuck all else to do, I walked out for another smoke. Called back. Nothing. It figures, really. Especially when I found out one of said buddies wasn’t even in Monterrey at the time.

HOME…

I hopped on the bus that would take me to my village. I tried to sleep, I really did. But at best, I must have drifted away for a total of one hour. I’d been awake for well over 24 hours, and I needed at least the power nap, but that never happened. And I was hungry. All I had in my stomach was a cup of coffee I had bought at 5.45 AM in Toronto (and after Houston, even that was doubtful).
I eventually arrived, got off the bus, and in true small-town tradition, I ran into people I knew. I proceeded to call up my sister, who informed me she was out of town, but had left me the keys to her house under a rock, somewhere.
I “borrowed” her car, and went to pick up my daughter. She, also, wasn’t home. So I waited, and waited, until…

REUNITED!

By the time my daughter arrived to her grandmother’s house, I had already downed a bottle of Boone’s peach-flavored wine (not my beverage of choice, but it was what was available). We left, stopped by the supermarket and went back to my sister’s place. Last thing I remember doing was hitting the SLEEP button on the TV so my daughter could still watch Disney Channel. It was 2 AM, a good 40 hours since I had last slept. I kissed her goodnight and disappeared into nothingness.

The Iceberg.

Well, if you haven’t seen it by now, I guess you don’t care about the movie so much that 3 comments on it will ruin the whole experience for you.
And judging by the lack of interest my friends from back home showed towards the movie, I won’t be ruining no damn experiences.

There were three things I, personally, didn’t like. And they are, in no particular order:

1. The treatment Harvey Dent/Two Face received.
First, (and yes, I’m aware of everything surrounding the events) the conversion from the upstanding DA to a mildly threatening villain was, well, too quick. A brief conversation with the Joker sufficed.
And second, the fact that they aparently killed him off.

2. The stupid speech impediment with which Batman speaks.
Of course, he can’t sound like Bruce Wayne and all that, but why does he have to sound (and look) like a combination of Jim Carrey in “The Cable Guy” and WWE’s Undertaker?

3. The way some dialog from the movie was different from what we heard in the trailers.
Not only because I watched each trailer at least 100 times, and thus memorized them and quoted them to anybody who’d give me audience. Simply, the dialog from the trailers was much better, in my opinion.

There you go. Three things I didn’t like about the Dark Knight. I’ll still buy the DVD when it comes out, though.

The Iceberg.

Yup, vacation’s over, time to get back to the rat race and catch up. Whoop-dee-doo!

The Iceberg.